The Mud and The Blood and The Struggle
by Evandar
Summary: Polly refuses to die while waiting for rescue; Death isn't so sure she has that option. Written for Oddegg, Yuletide 2013. Mentions of Polly/Mal femmeslash


**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Discworld_ and am making no profit from this story.

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The Mud and The Blood and The Struggle

by Evandar

A lot of people wondered – at low volume and preferably from a safe distance – why a vampire would join the Borogravian army. Corporal Maladicta wasn't Borogravian in origin **1** and on top of that, she was a Black Ribboner. Military service wasn't the normal route for someone trying to avoid blood – particularly _Borogravian_ military service, given the long history of declaring war on any and all of their neighbours for the smallest of reasons.

Polly had never asked. Maladicta didn't tend to deal well with questioning. She got Sarcastic **2**. It was one of those things that Maladicta would probably reveal at a suitably dramatic moment, just because she felt like it at the time, or because she'd spontaneously decided that it was something people _had to know_. For Polly, the _why_ wasn't nearly as important as that she _had_ and that because she had, she was out there somewhere trying to get Polly out of this damned cell.

She huffed and glared at the shackle on her ankle – the one that was not only keeping her chained to a wall, but had also ruthlessly defeated her tin spoon in an earlier attempt at freedom. It was easier to glare at than the shadow in the corner, which stared back at her with glowing blue eyes and occasionally cleared its throat with a sound like a tomb stone breaking. It wasn't that she was afraid. Rather, she had issues with authority as well and wasn't about to give her captors the satisfaction.

The shadow tapped bony fingers against the handle of its scythe and pulled out an hourglass filled with pale sand. Even though there was no light in the cell, Polly knew that her name was etched on its side and that the top bulb was nearing empty. She looked away again, and searched in the straw for the last scrap of spoon. It wouldn't do any good, she knew that, but it would make her feel better.

The hourglass was slipped back into a dark robe. "THERE IS NO USE IN FIGHTING," the shadow said, and every word felt like the slamming of a crypt door. It jolted down Polly's spine and rattled in her skull and made that soft sliver of tin slip through her fingertips again.

She wet her cracked lips with a dry tongue and glared up at it. "I'm a soldier," she said. "I always fight." She had always fought, whether it was for Paul's happiness or for the removal of a too-friendly hand from her rear. In a way, she'd been born to fight.

That was why she'd never asked Maladicta why she'd signed up. She'd seen the way her vampire scorned billowy nightgowns and coffins for bed. Maladicta was more suited to sleeping in either her uniform or the nude, and with her body curled around Polly's as often as their duties permitted **3**. She understood what it was like to be drawn away from the restrictions of society towards the mud and the blood and the struggle. She didn't need to hear about it. What she needed to hear was the faint sounds of battle outside coming closer. She could hear swords clashing and voices crying out. Maladicta was coming for her.

She picked up her scrap of tin again and bared her teeth when the shadow spoke again. "THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR," it said. "IT'S VERY BRIEF. NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT."

"I've got all the time in the world," she said. "Are you on a schedule?"

The hourglass was drawn out again rather deliberately. The pale sand in the top bulb was less than it had been before. "YOUR TIME IS LIMITED."

"But I still have it," she argued. She was set to last a bit longer – she would _make_ it long enough for Maladicta to get there. She _would_ be rescued. She, Sergeant Polly Perks, was _not_ going to die in this cell. Nor, for that matter, was she going to die dramatically in Maladicta's arms upon her rescue – Maladicta was the dramatic one in their relationship, thank you very much. Polly was much too practical for such things.

She started to saw at her shackles again. Her fingertips – already torn from her earlier efforts – started to bleed again. She sawed and scraped until there wasn't enough of the spoon left for her to hold, and her fingers were slipping wet over the metal. Then she leaned back against the wall and blinked dark spots from her eyes and looked up at Death as he stood over her.

"I'm not ready yet," she said.

"NO ONE EVER IS," Death replied. The blade of his scythe glowed blue in the gloom. Her hourglass, still held loosely in one hand, was nearly empty at the top. Her gaze caught on the sluggish trickle of silvery grains and she grit her teeth. There was still time, and the sounds of fighting were even closer.

She smiled up at Death as the clash and clatter of blades echoed down the hallway outside. "I'm not going to die here," she said. "I'm not afraid of you. I'm sleeping with a vampire; fearing Death would be sort of contradictory. I'm not going to die."

Beneath his cowl, Death was grinning.

**1 – **The name at the end of the long, long list on Maladicta's registration was 'von Uberwald'.

**2 – **This was opposed to her natural state of sarcastic. Maladicta was a study in raised eyebrows and subtly scathing tones of voice, but at least it was obvious. When she got Sarcastic, it often left people wondering for days afterward if they had been insulted. *****

***** - They had been.

**3 – **Which was more often than Polly had initially expected as they hadn't been separated – not even in the interests of politics. Privately, she suspected that it had taken some carefully pointed words in the right ears accompanied by Maladicta's most pleasant smiles ******

****** - Which weren't at all pleasant, given the razor-sharp arsenal hiding in her mouth.


End file.
